NonMotion
by delga
Summary: Tim back story. "It’s sometime after a year has passed when you’ve finally run out of things to do."


**Non-Motion**

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Fandom: CSI: Miami

Category: General

Spoilers: None

Summary: Speed back story (as based on canon). _"It's sometime after a year has passed when you've finally run out of things to do."_

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**Non-Motion**

Miami heat is sweetest at night.

If you can get out of work early, great. If you can't, no bother. It's time to take things day-by-day, step-by-step. No more rushing around. Time passes you very slowly these days; even when the labs are particularly busy. It seems like ever since you left Syracuse, somebody's pressed the 'stop' button; you're living your life in constant non-motion.

Which is ironic, you suppose. You don't really know.

You didn't go to the funeral, just got on your bike with the change in your pocket, the coat on your back and an old copy of Dumas' _The Three Musketeers_. Somewhere just before you hit the interstate, you filled up on gas and bought a bagel. You had $30 left; you hid it in your shoe.

A day later, just past the Pennsylvania/Maryland border, you stopped at another gas station, this time to use the phone. You left a message on your mom's answer machine and then emptied your wallet for anything of use. You pulled your hand out of your pocket and found a few loose coins, a stick of gum and a white business card with a number on it. Scrawled on the back in blue ink were the words, _Michael's uncle – call if you're in state!_

And that's how you got to Miami.

At first, old man Morris hadn't really known what to do with you; he'd offered you his home and you'd been too tired to say no. You swore to him it was only temporary: six months later and you were still there, paying a rent with money you'd earned doing odd jobs at a local garage.

You feel safe in Miami; everyone is anonymous. In some ways, it's a little like Syracuse – the mix match races; the hasty traffic; the hustle and bustle of busy city life – but mostly it's exotic and new and you like the idea of being lost in this perpetual paradise. Everyone here is lighter, somehow, happier maybe; people are bronze, gorged on by the sun and the sea.

It only took you a day to find the library; one more to understand the labyrinth of the city. Dade County is wide and varied; the Hispanics here are more open, more Spanish, more a part of the background than in Syracuse. You quickly realise that you're going to suffer a language barrier but the locals seem to know enough English for everyone to get by,

You stayed out of the apartment during the day, away from Morris and his quiet enquiries; you knew you were an intrusion and you felt ashamed – far too dependent on this person's kindness (you take your pride from your parents; mom was always big on self-reliance). But Morris never comments and rarely asks where you've been all day. He even accepted your rent with slight hesitation; from then on, you always left it under the coffee jar before you set out for the garage.

It's sometime after a year has passed when you've finally run out of things to do. You're feeling particularly nostalgic and even more useless than normal so you begin to peruse the shelves in the apartment. You're bored so you pick up a copy of some biological textbook and take it to the table.

Morris comes home five hours later to find you hunched over a yellow jotter, scribbling out notes in a messy, complicated shorthand. You're so engrossed in what you're doing, you don't notice him; you jump when he leans over your shoulder to get a better look.

That night, Morris looks at you in a whole new light.

The book had been a door: you'd begun to remember all the lab classes with Michael; the state championships; the science fairs. You'd recalled the diagrams and the explanations, the flimsy theories and the new discoveries. You'd remembered the essays, the faux-lectures, the assignments, the projects and everything that you and Michael had achieved – you'd remembered them and slowly you'd realised – you _missed_ that life.

The next morning, Morris took you into work with him. "Hey, Megan," he smiled, "this kid's lookin' for a job."

**FIN**


End file.
